Mean Joey
by Pinkie Tuscadaro
Summary: A bit out of character for Joey...something that just might have turned out another way.
1. Chapter 1

This is when Craig is hospitalized for bi-polar…

"I don't know about this anymore, Caitlin,"

Joey and Caitlin were sitting in the cafeteria, stale donuts and cooling coffee in front of them. Everyone looked stark against the pale green walls. Joey stared at the pale green paint and thought it was an ugly color.

"Know about what?" she said, her eyes full of concern. She could tell by the furrow of his brow that he was overwhelmed.

"About Craig. About raising him, I, I'm just not so sure…"

She was silent. It occurred to her to protest this line of thought, but she saw the redness in his eyes and the lines on his face, the healing cuts and bruises from Craig's punches, and thought better of it.

They visited Craig, the manic light slowly leaving his eyes as the medication began to take effect. He looked vulnerable in the hospital clothes or his soft flannel pants and T-shirts, wearing white socks or going barefoot. His hair was a mess of curls around his face, his hazel eyes glassy or over bright.

At home she made Joey tea, put a lemon in it and brought it to him. He thanked her and held the cup with the palms of his hands, getting some comfort from the warmth. The one lamp only partially lit the room, the shadows were deep in the corners, by the stairwell and near the door.

"I love him, I do, it isn't about love, it's…"

Caitlin listened as he tried to explain, her blue eyes never leaving his face.

"He's too much for me, his problems are beyond me…" He looked so sad as he said it, sad enough that Caitlin knew he had come to some sort of a decision.

"He can't stay with us, he's too damaged. Damaging. There are places that can help him,"

"He's at the hospital getting help," Caitlin said quietly, sipping her own tea.

"It's not just this…I don't…I'm not sure it's the best thing for Angela, having him stay here with us,"

Quiet. The worry lines are deep around his mouth and eyes. She never thought she'd see Joey Jeremiah look so old. She wants to ask, 'would you send Angela away, if it was her?' She wants to ask but doesn't dare.

"What will it do to him if you send him away?" she said, before she could stop herself.

"It might be better that way, better for everyone,"

X…….x…………x……..x…….x

There was the matter of telling Craig. Joey had researched it and found group homes for mentally ill teenagers and young adults. Nice places. He could go straight from the hospital to one of these.

"I don't want to tell him," Joey said, and the look in his eyes was tortured. Caitlin said nothing, just gazed at him with her still and silent look. They were in the hospital cafeteria again, the pale green walls closing in on them.

"I really don't want to tell him,"

Into the elevator that would carry them to the third floor, the mental health unit. It was locked, every room that wasn't a patient's room locked on the unit. Supply rooms, the medication room, staff meeting rooms, all had locks. Joey and Caitlin had to press the intercom button to be let onto the floor.

"Should I go with you to tell him?" Caitlin said, and Joey hadn't been able to decide. He wanted her there, wanted her security and support, but it wasn't about him. Craig might feel ganged up on, two against one if Caitlin went with him.

"No. I'd better tell him alone,"

She nodded and hung back, went to the coffee machine near the maternity ward while Joey pressed the intercom buzzer to be admitted to the MHU.

It was the middle of the day and Craig was sleeping. He'd been here awhile and some medication they gave him made him sleepy. He was curled up on top of the covers facing away from the door, Joey noticed the smooth curve of his back, the way his hair curled behind his ears and touched the collar of his shirt.

"Craig," he said, stage whisper. Craig didn't stir. Joey stepped into the room, the sun from the window directly across from him shining in his eyes and he squinted, felt the beginnings of a headache. He shook him gently and Craig stirred.

"Joey," he said thickly, eyes half shut. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Sleeping at noon?"

"Yeah. I'm so damn tired…"

Joey looked at him, the big hazel eyes, pale skin, dark curls. He'd thought, when he first came to live with him, that he could make things better for him, make things okay. But the nightmares over Albert and the constant flinching away from any physical contact made him doubt his surety. How could he help a kid overwhelmed by years of abuse? By the death of both parents? And now one with a major mental illness? He couldn't. He loved Craig but simply felt unable to help him.

"Listen, Craig, there's something I have to tell you,"

Joey sat on the edge of the bed, kneaded the rough material of the hospital blanket in between his fingers.

"I've been doing some thinking, and, well, I think it might be best if you go to a group home when you leave the hospital, instead of coming back to live with me and Angela,"

Craig looked at him blankly, the words not registering.

"What?" he said softly, and the look he gave him made Joey want to cry.

"Craig, it's…it's for the best…for everyone. For you, for Angela, everyone,"

"What? What do you mean?" His lower lip trembled and he took a shuddery breath.

"Craig, I still love you. We all love you. It's just that coming back to live with us right away, it might not be the best idea,"

Craig licked his lips, slid his eyes to the side and looked out the window.

"Listen, you could come and visit us, and we'd visit you…"

"Where is it? This place?" Craig said, still looking out the window, his voice still soft.

"It's just on the outskirts of Toronto,"

"So I'd have to switch schools?"

Joey swallowed. He hadn't thought about that. Maybe he hadn't thought of a lot of things.

"I suppose,"

"Joey…no….I can't live at some place like that,"

"It's the best thing," he waited for an assault of begging, of pleading with him not to do this, and he thought he might just crack under such an assault. But it didn't come.

"Fine," Craig said, and turned away from him.


	2. Chapter 2

Caitlin sat quietly, a meal uneaten in front of her. Quietly, glancing at Joey across their uneaten hopsital food, the pale green walls closing in on them again.

"You told him?" she said.

He nodded, didn't look at her. The lines in his face were deep, the cuts and bruises from Craig didn't seem to be healing at all.

Quietness spinning on, wrapping a web around them. Dark circles under Joey's eyes. The smell of stale coffee and fried food. The glimpses of other stressed out visitors.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing," Joey's voice was deep and quiet when he answered her, and he stared into the middle distance. Caitlin thought he was thinking of Craig, but he was thinking of Julia.

8888888.…….88888888.……..88888888

Julia. Bright eyes. Laughter. Her soft skin, the way she looked at him. Things had been pretty close to perfect there for awhile.

Craig would come over, not often in those days, and sometimes he'd see bruises he never told Julia about. Bruises like fingerprints around Craig's pale upper arms, fading sick yellow bruises on his stomach and ribs.

"Where'd you get that?" he'd ask, and Craig would lie. Fell. Sports. Gym class. Fight at school, park, playground. Lies. The round eyes, the not looking at him. He knew the answers were lies and he never told Julia. If. If he'd told her, what would she have done? Craig religiously wore long sleeves around her, tucked his shirts in and wore sweatshirts over them so she wouldn't see, wouldn't ask…

He felt Julia's recriminations. A halfway house? A group home for mentally ill teenagers? Would Julia agree with this? Is this what she would want for her son?

Too wrung out for tears, he could feel Caitlin's steady blue-eyed gaze.

Julia. Long dark curly hair. When Angela was born life was complete in a way it had never been, in a way he never thought it could be. Still, there was Craig and Albert in the background of things, thorns in his life with his perfect wife and perfect baby. Craig was needy back then, and it took all their energy to pretend that Albert wasn't abusing him. Damn haunted kid, and when they saw him less and less as Angela grew older the pretending became easier.

It might hurt Craig to go to one of those places, might make him feel that he is mentally ill to the exclusion of all else. Crazy would become his identity, leaving his friends, his school, his sister, and him. How often, realistically, would they see him? Once a week? Every other week? 

Joey pushed the food aside, a thin strip of chicken in a congealing sauce, a dried out ball of mashed potatoes. He met Caitlin's gaze, her soft compassion making him take a shuddery breath.

"He's going to get out soon. I can't deal with him right now. Maybe it's wrong. Maybe if he was my son and not Albert's I'd let him stay. Maybe I'm that selfish of a person. I don't know,"

Caitlin reached out and covered his hand with hers. Nodded.

"It's not easy, Joey. He's a very difficult kid. He's been abused. His parents both died fairly recently. He has a mental illness. It's a lot to ask anyone to deal with. If you need a break that's nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn't mean you don't love him,"

Tears. He couldn't help it. Julia's image burned on the back of his eyelids, and he'd seen the bruises on her, too. Her difficult, difficult son. What could he do? He touched the edges of the black eye, winced at the tenderness. He had nothing right now. Just nothing left to give.

"Do you mind if I go up and see him?" Caitlin said, sipping on her coffee, taking his hand in hers.

"No, I don't mind,"

"Okay," she said softly, locking her gaze with his.

"Okay,"


	3. Chapter 3

Caitlin made her way through the halls, past stunned looking gray haired old people, leaving a spouse up in some hospital room. Past giddy younger people with balloons and stuffed animals for some brand-new baby. She thought of Joey, right where she left him, his eyes looking weary.

She made her way to the old bank of elevators, the only ones that go up to the third floor. She didn't want to judge Joey, she didn't know what it was like to live with Craig.

She loved him, all of them. Joey, Craig, Angela. Loved Joey's sense of humor, sense of the fun that could be in life. Loved Angela's innocence, her trusting nature. And Craig. His creativity, his intelligence.

She didn't want to judge Joey, but she knew what it was like having a condition, a disease. She had epilepsy and her parents' concern had touched her heart and wore her down just the same. She knew what it was to live under a label, to be forced to take medication every day to remind you that you were damaged. She didn't want to side with Craig.

She pushed the black button in the elevator that would bring her up to the third floor. The mental health unit was in an old part of this old hospital, even the glass in the windows looked warped as though the molecules had begun to move.

Inside, pointed the way to Craig's room, she went down the short hall with as much courage as she could.

"Craig?" He was sitting on his made bed, fiddling with the hospital bracelet around his wrist. He didn't answer. She took a step inside the room.

"Craig?"

"Yeah," he spoke but didn't look up. She would not judge Joey, remembering the frightening, uncontrollable rage, the unreasoning look in Craig's eyes as he shoved Joey to the floor and started punching him. Remembering how he couldn't even seem to hear them, and how she realized this was not a child. He was 16 years old, he towered over Joey, and he wasn't easy to control.

"Can I sit?" she said, wanting him to look at her, but he kept his head down, kept fiddling with the wide white bracelet made of a laminated thick paper. She could read what was printed on it, 'Manning, Craig, D.O.B. 09/16/1988' then numbers all in a row and a bar code and the name of the hospital. Labels. She understood labels.

"Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse, and he did look at her for a second with his sad eyes. So she sat, the bed shifting under her weight, and he crossed his legs Indian style.

"You talked to Joey?" she said, peering at him. He nodded.

"Yeah. I guess he told you he doesn't want me,"

"No, Craig, it isn't that-"

"Yes it is. And I don't blame him,"

"Craig, Joey loves you, it's just a difficult time right now with everything-"

"Yeah, with me being crazy. I said I don't blame him. I don't. I know it's me. I used to think my dad was the one, the one with the problem, so that's why he…hit me. Now Joey can't stand me, either. See, Caitlin, it wasn't my dad. It wasn't that I was okay and my dad was this abusive jerk, because Joey's sending me away. It's me,"

Head down again, tears coursing down his cheeks. The tears made his hazel/brown eyes look nearly green, and she didn't know what to do. It almost made sense, how he explained it. And he believed that. That was his truth, that he had caused his father to beat him, that he had caused Joey to send him away.

"No, Craig, it isn't like that,"

She put her hand on his shoulder and she could feel him shaking.


	4. Chapter 4

Now that it was here, now that all his bags were packed and he was dressed in his jeans and T-shirt and black leather jacket, Joey wanted to take him home. But the place was all booked, the group home had an open slot and all the paperwork was completed and he was set to go there.

"Bye," Craig said shyly to the nurses, and they smiled at him, the same love in their eyes that teachers got. Joey had seen Snake look at his students with the same helpless love.

"Good luck, Craig," they told him, and looked at Joey with veiled eyes, doubting his ability to take as good care of him as they did.

"Ready, Craig?"

"Yeah," Craig was not looking at him, was only responding when spoken to. Joey feared the group home idea had caused irreparable damage.

In the car, Craig calm and looking out the window, Joey tried again.

"It's only temporary, Craig. It's just for awhile, just so you can readjust. Okay?"

"Yeah," Craig said tonelessly.

After the silent two hour drive they were nearing it. Joey kept checking the directions, slowing down to stare at street signs. Craig looked out the window, he wouldn't say anything.

"This is it," Joey said. It was the last house on a dead end street, surrounded by tall pines. It looked nice but a bit industrial. Off-white cement steps led up to the front door instead of wooden or brick stairs. Some of the details of this house looked a little rushed. Craig kept his head down, wouldn't even look at it.

A girl in her early 20's answered the door at Joey's knock. She wore a laminated work badge on a black flat shoelace necklace. Dark permed hair, bright eyes, she looked like a frenetic college student.

"Hi. You must be Craig," she said with this forced outgoingness. Craig looked up at her, not smiling, the hurt in his eyes making Joey feel guilt like tiny knives stabbing him everywhere.

They stepped inside. There was a long hall leading to a stairway, and there was a living room and a kitchen off the hall downstairs. It smelled strange in there, like wood that was too new and stale pasta and too many people living in the same house.

They took the tour. The rooms had sturdy furniture made of thick wood and rough cotton cushions. It was furniture that could take a beating.

"This is your room," she said, showing Craig a room that resembled a wide hallway up at the top of the stairs. He dropped his bag on the floor.

"Well, Craig, I'm gonna get going," Joey said, and Craig didn't respond. The college girl, alert to people's nonverbal cues and subtle shifts in mood, looked at Joey.

"I'll go downstairs and let you say goodbye," she said, and she turned and left, bouncing down the stairs. Joey watched her go. Craig didn't.

"Craig, look at me,"

He did what he was told to do. That much he supposed Albert had accomplished. No matter how pissed off or upset he was, Craig would usually follow a direct command.

His eyes were filled with tears that were about to spill over. Joey closed his eyes for longer than a blink, felt a tension headache beginning at the base of his skull.

"This is only temporary. Just so everyone can adjust. This isn't a punishment, Craig. Okay? It's just for a short time,"

"Yeah," Craig said dully, wiping at the tears with quick motions.

"I love you. Okay? Listen, me and Ang and Caitlin are gonna visit this weekend. Alright?"

"Okay,"

Joey hugged him, but Craig didn't hug back. He allowed himself to be hugged.

Down the stairs, past the utilitarian kitchen and living room, toward the front door, he ran into the college girl.

"Don't worry. He'll be fine," she said, "most of them are scared at first,"

Joey nodded at her, felt his tension headache creep from the base of his skull to the top of his head.

"I hope so,"


	5. Chapter 5

He smiled at Angela, but it was false. Faked. He drank too much wine with Caitlin. Sloppy drunk. He visited Craig every weekend like going to church, and all the guilt was tied up in the those visits just like religion. Craig's quietness, the dark circles around his eyes, the disturbing new habits, all added to his guilt.

Always a drink at his hand for comfort, coffee throughout the day, wine at night. Sneaking cigarettes here and there, low doses of the legal drugs to help him feel better, but it wasn't working. It occurred to him that he was worse than Albert, in a way. Albert had never abandoned him.

"You didn't abandon him, Joey," Caitlin said, her small hands cupped around her wine glass. She brought the glass to her lips, and the red wine stained them like blood.

"Oh no? It sure feels like it,"

The fire flickering, playing on the pale planes of Caitlin's face, dancing on the wine in their glasses. Angela slept soundly above them, and she was sad, too. Her and Craig had an odd bond, seeing each other as last links to their mother. And Julia's ghost voice had been reproaching him lately. She was displeased.

"He looks awful, Caitlin,"

"It isn't your fault, Joey. He's been diagnosed with a major mental illness. He's sick," Caitlin could sound so reasonable, so sure of things. Joey frowned, the crease deep and visible between his eyes.

Next weekend, climbing into the car with Angie and Caitlin, Ashley came running up.

"Mr. Jeremiah?" Out of breath, her cheeks flushed, her hair spiky and short around her face, "Mr. Jeremiah? Can I come, too? You're visiting Craig, right?"

"Yeah. Sure you can come. I'm sure he'd love to see you,"

Long drive, the only sound the music. New songs he'd never heard before, lots of guitar and screaming. Caitlin flipping the channels, running across oldies, instrumentals, alternatives. The road sliding smoothly beneath them. He knew the way there by heart now.

Ashley's big blue eyes holding worry and trepidation like water as she looked up at the house. Joey led the way to the front door. He rang the bell and listened as someone made their way to the door.

"Hey," A tall overweight kid answered the door, his eyes distant. Joey knew this was Jeff, a delusional schizo-affective in his mid twenties.

"Hi. Is Craig here?" Joey said, and could feel Angie and Ashley peering around him and Jeff, trying to see in. Caitlin was near the car on her cell phone.

"Craig? Uh, I think so. Let me check. Uh, you want to come in?"

Joey nodded and they stood on the edge of one of the many living rooms. Caitlin was still on the phone outside, and Joey watched her through the glass.

"Hi," Craig, his voice quiet, his hair tousled. He looked like he just woke up. Jeff didn't come back downstairs with him.

"Craig," Ashley said, stepping toward him. Craig gazed at her. She threw her arms around him.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, and outside Caitlin hung up her phone and slipped it into her pocket. Her dyed hair looked unreal in the sun. Craig put his arms around Ashley, closed his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Leaving was the hardest part. Lately he'd wanted to take Craig with them. He said goodbye like he always did, his voice soft, not really looking at any of them.

"I'll call you," Ashley promised, and he nodded. Angie looked at him with her small dark eyes and small dark smile. Caitlin pressed her lips together, nodded at him.

"See you next weekend," Joey said, and Craig flicked his eyes over to him and then away and that was his only response.

That night, the fire roaring in the stone fireplace, his glass full of a blood red Italian wine, he broached the subject with Caitlin.

"I think Craig should come home," he said, and Caitlin sipped her wine, looked at him over the rim of her glass.

"I don't think that place is any good for him, he's, he's not getting anything out of it, and he looks so depressed," he went on, and Caitlin nodded.

"So have him come home," she said, and finished off her wine.

The next weekend Joey set off alone, Angie was at his mother's. The road unfurled as it always did, the light blue faded asphalt getting eaten up by the treads of his tires. The sun rotating about the windows, casting its light and shade along his face.

He pulled up alongside the house and took a deep breath, and he didn't like it that he felt so nervous. He looked at the line of evergreen trees at the horizon's edge, their jagged green line against the blue. He closed his eyes, rested his head on the steering wheel. Craig. Jesus. Sat up again and sipped the last of his cold coffee from the cardboard to-go cup.

"Okay," he said softly, his breath pluming out with the word. Okay.

He knocked at the door and the same college girl from the first day answered, her hair shorter now, curling at her shoulders. The same laminated work badge around her neck.

"You want to see Craig?" she said, smiling brightly at him, and he nodded.

"He's in his room,"

Joey went up the stairs and the closer he got he could hear guitar notes, a burst of them and then nothing. He stood outside the closed door and listened. Felt his nerves jangling under his skin. Knocked softly at the door.

"Come in!"

He pushed the door open and smiled at him. Craig sat on the bed, the guitar across his lap, a pencil between his teeth, paper next to him.

"Hi," Joey said, and thought he noticed disappointment that he was the only one.

"Hi, Joey," Flat. No smile. Joey licked his lips. He came into the room and shut the door.

"Craig, I wanted to discuss something with you,"

The look in Craig's eyes was a sort of tired trepidation, like whatever it was wouldn't be good. Joey closed his eyes and felt the headache suddenly slam into him, assaulting him like a sudden bolt of lightening, cracking the air and the silence. Craig hated him. He was sure of it. He had fucked up beyond repair.

He opened his eyes slowly, like the light in the room might burn his retinas if he opened them too fast. He sat on the bed, forcing Craig to push over. Craig put the guitar on the floor, scooped up the papers and put them on the nightstand.

"Craig, listen, I've been thinking a lot about things, thinking about a lot of things, and, well…" He glanced over at him, at least he was looking at him. Granted, it was with a puzzled disdain, but at least he was looking at him.

"Look, I've sort of felt out of my league with you ever since you moved in with me. I wasn't sure I could deal with your, uh, issues, but it seemed that Albert would take you back, once he straightened out. I figured you could stay with me because it wasn't safe for you to stay with Albert, not then. But when your dad died, that changed it. I was it. I was your father, and you were a kid with a lot of…things…even your mother's death. Angie didn't remember that. But you did, and all the things that were going on with you, I was scared. I wanted to help you, I wanted you to…to be okay, but I didn't really know what to do. I just sort of hoped you would be okay, that you'd deal with the things that had happened to you on your own and that things would be fine,"

Craig was staring at him, and Joey felt like his mouth had no saliva, his tongue seeming to stick to the roof of his mouth.

"But I think I was wrong, I mean, to think you could just deal with it on your own, being only 14..." Joey covered his eyes with one hand, felt the slant of sun across his face. Felt Craig's eyes on him. He wanted to express this, wanted Craig to see how it was.

"And I also felt that you were kind of thrown into my lap…but that didn't mean that I didn't love you, because I did, and I do. But I also feel guilty because I failed you, I left you to deal with the deaths of your parents, with being abused, with all of it, I left all of that up to you. So then when this bipolar thing happened, it was too much. It honestly was. You needed help I couldn't give, and then I was afraid to have you come back because I…I didn't know what to do, how to help you…but I don't think this was the right choice, either. I wish I hadn't sent you here. I don't think it helped you at all. So I'd like you to come back home,"

The naked pleading in his last statement took him off guard, and he looked to see if Craig noticed.


End file.
